


Lone Woofs

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Banter, Fluff and Crack, Hospitals, Hotels, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10016666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: What do you do after putting a guy through a bank of electrical equipment? Visit him in the hospital and buy him a teddy bear, obviously.Baron Corbin and Dean Ambrose find their paths are intertwined on the road to Wrestlemania.





	1. Bearon Corbin

**Author's Note:**

> Set right after Smackdown on 2/14/17.

The heart monitor blinked steadily. There was an American Pickers marathon on the television; Dean was too tired to argue with them about what they were offering people for their junk like he usually did. Something in him ached for his usual hospital buddies. Roman was halfway across the continent, not bothered to even send a text. At least, Dean thought. His phone had been out of his reach for the last hour and he didn’t want to ring a nurse to get it for him. They worked their joints to the bone just like he did, keeping his sorry ass alive along with everybody else in the goddamn hospital.

It seemed like a normal out-of-nowhere attack; he had had a few of those, perpetrated a few more in his career. But he had never taken an electric shock quite like he did when Corbin put him through that bank of equipment that night.

The doctor said his heart stopped for at least fifteen seconds—he was clinically dead. And on prime time television, at that. Dean was pissed. He didn’t see any ghosts, didn’t go into the light, just felt like his body was on fire before passing out and coming to. He hoped he would at least see Dream welcoming him to whatever other place his ass was going. Fuckin’ nothing.

One of the duty nurses listened patiently to that story, nodding. The later one got mad with him. “You didn’t see Bruiser Brody or Andre the Giant or nobody?” She was cool. He promised to sign her a really good autograph when he got the IV out of his writing arm and wasn’t dying anymore.

But it was late and he was awake and still watching the TV, his stomach rumbling but achy from the pain medicine they gave him, wiggly because he couldn’t get up without yanking out a bunch of wires from the heart monitor and the electrodes and the IVs and that shit.

There was a knock on the door of his room, and then it opened.

“Fuck,” Dean said, scrambling at his wires, trying to get up. Baron Corbin was standing in the doorway, a slouchy beanie pulled down over his head. He was zipped up into a nondescript leather jacket and his face was drawn.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What?” Dean asked.

“What?” Corbin said defensively.

Dean’s eyes darted around, looking for the panic/I’m dying/help me button. “Don’t tell me you’re not here to finish the job,” Dean said.

“I’m here because I almost killed you,” Corbin said. He came into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He was pale and his eyes were wide as he approached Dean. “Fuck. Are you gonna be okay?”

“No thanks to you, but they just got me wired up to make sure my heart’s ok and give me some medicine to calm all that shit down. And treat the pain. You ever been electrocuted?”

“Doesn’t electrocute mean be killed by electricity? You’re not dead.”

“I was. I was dead for fifteen seconds.”

“Did you see the light?” Corbin asked.

“No, I fucking didn’t, and it’s not fucking fair.”

“Maybe you need to be dead for longer for that, or maybe you just forgot when you woke up. I dunno.” Corbin pulled his hat off and scratched his head. He eyed a stool in the corner and pulled it over to sit next to Dean’s hospital bed.

“I didn’t wrestle hardcore fucking deathmatches for half my twenties to die from getting dropped into an equipment board,” Dean said.

“I’m sorry,” Corbin said again. “It wasn’t worth it.”

“Was the plexiglass worth it?” Dean snapped.

“...yeah, it kind of was,” Corbin said.

“It looked cool. I watched the tape. It hurt like a son of a bitch but...it did look cool.”

“You look cool when you get the shit murdered out of you, Ambrose, that’s why you make the big bucks.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Dean said. He flopped his head back against the pillow and the upright tilt of the hospital bed.

The monitors kept beeping. Corbin stared down at a bag in his hands. Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

“I brought you something,” Corbin said.

“Is it flowers,” Dean said. “Is it a Valentine. Are you here to be my Valentine?”

“It’s not fucking flowers,” Corbin swore. He pulled a teddy bear out of the bag.

“What. The fuck. Is that.” Dean said, his eyes getting wide.

“Goddammit, I knew this was a terrible—”

“Give it to me!” Dean shouted, laughing. “What’s his name? Does he have a name? Do I get to name him? Is he Bear-on Corbin?”

“Shit, that’s pretty good,” Corbin laughed nervously, handing over the bear. “Um, I was going to call him Dean Ambears.”

“He can’t be named after me if he’s my freaking bear,” Dean said like it was obvious. He held him out in front of him, making eye contact. “Are you a good bear?” He asked. He leaned in to listen to the answer. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said seriously.

“Roman was right,” Corbin said mostly to himself.

“When did you talk to Roman?” Dean asked. He turned the bear around. “Bear-in wants to know too.”

Corbin shrugged. “Hour ago. I told Jimmy what I wanted to ask him about and he gave me his number.”

Dean frowned and clutched the bear to his chest. “Can you do something for me?” He asked.

Corbin shrugged and made a “go on” gesture.

“I dropped my phone a while ago and couldn’t get up to get it. I think it bounced over there...” Dean gestured to the floor under a bank of equipment.

“Ew, you should clean it if it’s been on a hospital floor...” Corbin got up off the stool and crouched down on the floor, looking for the phone. “Is it that blinking rectangle? Yeah, I got it.” He reached his long arm under a rolling bank of storage drawers and pulled it out. “Two missed calls. A few texts.”

“Don’t look at it, give it here,” Dean said.

“It’s just the lock screen,” Corbin said, but he turned the phone face down and handed it over.

Dean unlocked it after a false try, his fingers shaky from the meds they pumped him full of, and his bear tucked under his arm. Two calls from Roman. He hadn’t forgotten. He knew he was hurt. Something unwound from around Dean’s windpipe and he breathed a little easier, a little fuller. He felt a little hot. It was weird having Corbin here, but it was nice not to be by himself, and it was almost human of him to call off the feud due to injury. Almost.

“Um,” Dean said. “Do you know where the button to call the nurse on this thing is? I gotta piss.”

Corbin furrowed his brow quizzically.

“I’m hooked up to all these goddamn wires!” Dean said.

“It’s on wheels, just get off the bed and roll the machines with you,” Corbin said. “You don’t need a nurse to hold a bedpan for you. Unless you’re hurt even worse than I thought,” he continued. “Fuck, you aren’t—”

“No, my legs still fucking work, shove off. Actually, help me up.”

Corbin reached out, grabbing Dean’s hand and anchoring him so he could sit up. He swung his legs off the bed.

“Can you round up the...devices?” Dean looked suspiciously at them. “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.”

“It’s okay. This is routine,” Corbin drawled. He squinted at one of the machines. “Your heart rate is normal. Signs look pretty good.”

“How the fuck do you know how to read that,” Dean said. Corbin pushed the IV bag and the machine on wheels forward as Dean walked gingerly toward the tiny bathroom attached to the room.

“I was a nurse assistant for a while,” Corbin said. “I got the training after college. My sociology degree wasn’t getting me very far after the NFL didn’t want me anymore,” he chuckled dryly.

“No shit,” Dean said.

“All the shit,” Corbin corrected. “I wiped a lot of butts. Don’t think anything they can do to me in WWE would be worse than that.”

“Professional butt wiper,” Dean said. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. Even worse than professional butt kisser.”

“Definitely.”

Dean clutched at the thin hospital gown now that he realized that was all that separated him from Corbin.

“Relax, Ambrose,” Corbin said. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the locker room before.”

“You been looking?”

Corbin blushed faintly. “I thought you had to piss. Here.” He reached his long arms out to grab two machines and push them toward the bathroom, opening the door for Dean and gesturing forward.. Dean held his robe closed and walked his IV-and-electrode tethers as far as they would go.

“I suppose you can’t shut the door on account of the cords,” Dean said.

“Unless you wanna unclip your heart monitor and give everybody on shift a heart attack thinking you had one,” Corbin drawled, the twang of his accent coming out with his sarcasm.

“Sure,” Dean said. “Seems fair. Well, this is a lot more help than I usually get out of guys who beat the crap out of me, so I thank you for that.”

“Piss and get back in the bed.”

“Don’t boss me around!” Dean almost let go of the hospital gown to gesture emphatically, but he caught himself.

“How about I just call the nurse. You don’t want me here, and I”m not sure why I—”

“Okay, okay!” Dean hustled to lift the toilet seat without yanking out his IV and let go, trying not to feel weird about this whole thing. His body ached so much, it was a wonder anything emotional was cutting through it. Maybe he needed more pain meds.

He shook off and managed to wash his hands without giving Corbs a free show, though when he looked over his shoulder he saw Corbin’s back was turned and he was looking down at something, probably his phone.

Dean shuffled back out of the bathroom, and Corbin silently pushed the machines back to the bed as he followed.

“Gonna tuck me in,” Dean said, realizing he was only half joking once the snark was out of his mouth. When was the last time someone had been there to put him to bed when he was hurt, or sick, or just feeling lousy? He swung his legs up onto the bed and then there Corbin was, pulling up the sheet and the light blanket over him.

“How tight do you want it?” he asked, his stretchy knit beanie starting to slip off his head.

“Your hat—” Dean reached out to catch it, but he caught a wire and felt a bunch of things start to tear and slide and pull.

“Nope!” Corbin let the hat fall to keep the monitor from being knocked over, and to keep the electrode from ripping off of Dean’s skin. His hair came out from under the hat, in a loose bun but starting to fall out. He let out a puff of a sigh. “Phew. Got it.”

Dean took in a shaky breath. A long lock of dark hair brushed his arm and he felt a pang of loneliness and his goddamn traitorous heart sped up. The machine beeped faster.

“Um, so—”

“You can tuck me in tighter if you want,” Dean said.

He felt Corbin’s hands on him, pushing the blankets tightly under his thighs and his middle. His hands were so different now than they were in the ring, or in the Elimination Chamber, or in the arenas where they had been scuffling backstage.

“Here,” Corbin said, handing Dean his teddy bear. Dean tucked Bearon securely under his arm and relaxed back against the pillow. The monitor beeping slowed down.

The TV was still on. The guys on the show were trying to justify buying a gasoline sign for a couple hundred dollars, figuring out how much profit they could make.

“I hate this show,” Dean said. “Why do I watch this show so much.”

“Passes the time,” Corbin said. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“Yeah.” Dean closed his eyes. “I think I can sleep again.” He heard the soft whine of the old model television turning off, but he didn’t hear anything else after that.

“Get out of here, kid,” Dean said, settling into the pillow. His voice was starting to sound thick with sleep. He didn’t see Corbin roll his eyes and check the monitor one more time. He did hear him let himself out, and then the room was as dark and quiet as a hospital room with a live patient ever got.


	2. Parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Corbin have an encounter backstage, and words are exchanged.

Dean was back in action by the end of their “weekend,” ready to go by the time of their house show that Friday. Corbin wasn’t sure if he should be avoiding him or seeking him out. He was still mad, they were both mad because fighting over a title just made you mad, but...they were also cool, right? He went to the hospital so that they could be cool.

“Ambrose, are we cool?” he asked as soon as he could find Dean backstage at the venue.

Dean was filling out a form on a clipboard with a familiar stuffed toy under his arm. It was Bearon Corbin, and the bear was wearing some new threads.

“Sure, kid,” Dean said. “We’re cool. Still going to kick your ass for what you did. But, like, not right now.” He looked up with an easy grin. Their eyes met. After a moment, Corbin shook off Dean’s penetrating gaze.

“Where the hell did you get a biker vest for the bear?” Corbin asked, shaking his head with a slow disbelief.

“Jo-Ann Fabrics,” Dean said smugly. “Just cause a guy’ll throw down don’t mean he can’t do some crafts. Got myself some new pinking shears too.”

Corbin blinked a few times. “Can I see him?” he asked.

Dean held out the teddy bear. Corbin stepped closer to him, pushing off the concrete wall he had been leaning against. He grabbed it overhand. “Is this puff paint?” He asked, turning the bear over and looking at the back of the vest Dean had made for him. It. Him.

“Does it look puffy to you?” Dean asked. “Give him back.”

“I bought the stupid thing,” Corbin said.

“Well, you bought him for me, and I took him in and gave him a name and a home and a cool outfit, so I’m his real dad and you can give him the fuck back right now.” Dean held out his hand.

Corbin narrowed his eyes. “His real dad.”

“Yep.” Dean popped the P and stared up at Corbin. “Got a problem with that?”

Corbin blinked a few times. Did he? Why was he feeling possessive about the bear? “He’s got my last name. He’s a Corbin. That bear belongs to me.”

“Your children don’t belong to you, you monster! They’re not your possessions! Give him back. I just want to take care of him and make him little tiny entrance outfits and maybe get one of those miniature intercontinental titles to carry around.”

“My son will be the WWE champion or nothing,” Corbin said, thrusting the bear at Dean. He set his jaw. “You got that?”

Dean sniffed. “He can be any kind of champion he wants to be.”

“Do you guys have a son I don’t know about?” Daniel Bryan said, making his presence known. “Do we need to do some paperwork?”

Corbin grimaced. “Dean’s just being a—”

“A good parent!” Dean said. He punched Baron on the arm as he walked away.

Daniel frowned. “Never thought he’d be the one you go to for advice, but I trust you’ll do the right thing,” he said. “Let me know if we need to make any deductions to your paycheck.”

Corbin pulled at his hair and let out a yell of frustration, and then took off for catering to take his feelings out on a plate of baby carrots.


	3. Sleeping arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corbin lets Dean share his hotel room at great peril to his sanity and his boundaries.

“What do you mean there’s no reservation under Ambrose?” Dean asked the lady at the counter.

“I’m sorry sir...”

Baron Corbin failed to hide casually behind a tall potted plant in the lobby. He looked at his phone like he wasn’t listening to Dean’s conversation.

Dean huffed. “Can you look me up by credit card number? Here.” He pushed his shiny platinum card across the counter and shifted to keep a hold of his two bags and the teddy bear tucked under his arm.

It was then that Corbin walked casually across the lobby. “Can I carry something for you?” He said from behind Dean.

“Here, take your son,” Dean said, pushing the bear at him. But as soon as he did that, his suitcase handle slipped out of his hand and everything went clattering to the floor. The rugged plastic case holding the intercontinental title bounced on a corner and a little black piece of plastic went flying off.

“Sir, I can see in the computer that you have a reservation for tomorrow night, not tonight. We’re fully booked for the evening. I can call across town to the other Marriott if you like, but there’s a convention of professional doll manufacturers over at the convention center? So I think they’re booked too, and even if they’re not the whole place is crawling with creepy dolls.”

Dean winced and took a step back from the counter, covering his face with his hands. “Should I risk it for creepy dolls?” he said in a muffled voice.

“I don’t have a roommate this leg,” Corbin said.

“Are you going to murder me in my sleep?” Dean asked.

“And leave our son without a father? What kind of man do you think I am,” Corbin drawled.

Dean dropped his hands. “Kid, I don’t get you. I think I might like you, but I don’t fucking get you.”

“Can I get a second room key for 408?” Corbin asked, coming up next to Dean at the marble front desk.

“Absolutely,” the woman said.

Her nametag read “Karen.”

“Sorry for snapping at you, Karen,” Dean said. “It’s been a long day on the road. You’re just doing your job.”

“I’ve had so much worse than a couple of cute, surly wrestlers,” Karen said.

Corbin’s hand flew up to tug at his beanie, and then he went to collect the title in its slightly broken case. He grabbed one of Dean’s bags. “Um, there’s only one bed, but you can have the couch.”

Karen’s eyes went slightly wide but she maintained a straight face.

“Better than creepy dolls. The bear sleeps with me, though.” Dean picked up his last suitcase off the ground.

“Here’s your key,” Karen said.

They trundled off toward the elevator.

“If you were already checked in, why were you loitering in the lobby inspecting the plants?” Dean asked once they doors shut behind them.

“Was thinking about hitting the hotel bar. Maybe finding somewhere to eat,” he lied. “But we could order take out if you want.”

“Oh, I fucking want,” Dean said.

Corbin gulped.

***

“You like me,” Dean said accusingly to Corbin once they were settling in to the hotel room.

“I don't like you at all,” Corbin replied quickly.

“Why are you letting me sleep in your room if you don't like me at all?” Dean countered.

Corbin went over to where his bag was propped up on a luggage stand and unzipped it. “Rules of the road. Help a guy out.”

“A guy who is literally trying to fight you for a living.” Dean folded his arms.

“I don't know! Aren't I supposed to do that?”

“No, you totally are, but that's not the question! You could have pawned me off on Mojo or let me stay at the creepy doll hotel. But you didn't.”

“I _don't_ like you.”

“Name one thing you don't like about me,” Dean insisted.

“Your hair,” Baron said shortly.

“Why don't you like my hair?” Dean asked. “I have great hair.”

“It's just the first thing I saw! I don't care about your fucking hair!” He withdrew a faded college hoodie and sweatpants from the bag and slammed the suitcase shut.

“Okay, think harder. I'll sing the Jeopardy song. Name another thing you don't like about me.”

Corbin rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom closing the door hard.

“Do do do do-do do do do,” Dean sang.

Corbin stripped off his leather jacket and his sweaty tee shirt and jeans. He looked down at himself and peeled off his underwear too, changing into some sweats to just lay around in. If he could get with the laying. And the...around.

“You are so annoying! I should almost kill you again! I could handle you in a hospital bed,” Corbin shouted through the door.

“I could handle you in a hospital! You were nice then!”

“I'm nice now. You're staying in my room, aren't you?”

“Why would you be nice to me if you didn't like me?” Dean said triumphantly.

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Corbin said. “Because I’m not actually the worst person on the roster.”

As he came out of the bathroom he saw Dean sitting on the bed, boots off, legs crossed at the ankles and he was turning the TV on. The teddy bear was sitting next to him on the bed.

Corbin huffed and threw his dirty clothes down on top of his closed suitcase, hanging his jacket up on a hanger. He threw it back in the closet and it swung wildly back and forth.

“What kind of pizza do you want,” Dean said.

“I don't care,” Corbin huffed.

“Yes you do.”

“Not pineapple,” he said. He looked around the room. He could take the couch right now and keep his distance, but he didn't want the couch, and he didn't really want distance. But if he sat that close to Ambrose they might kill each other.

He decided it was worth the risk. And he couldn't see the TV from the couch, and he needed a distraction.

Dean lay back languidly and reached for the hotel phone from the bedside table. He grabbed a big book of phone numbers and pizza advertisements too and pulled them all to him. He rolled over and dialed a number it looked like he picked at random.

“Get some diet cokes too,” Corbin said. “And I want a salad. Chicken Caesar with extra chicken.”

Dean covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Hold your horses, kid, I got this. I've ordered a pizza before.”

“And a salad.” Corbin frowned and pulled his hat off to readjust the bun his hair was in.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Hello, I'd like to order A SALAD AND SOME POP thank you, oh also a pizza, do you sell those still? Great.”

Corbin grabbed the remote from where Dean had dropped it on the bedspread and started flicking channels. He got to one showing a cartoon, not one he recognized or anything, but still a cartoon, and that's was good enough. He rolled onto his side and grabbed the bear, tucking it under his arm.

“What does your son want for dinner?” Dean turned to him to ask.

“He's not hungry.”

“And a child personal pan pizza for our son,” Dean said. “Just cheese. Does it come with a toy? Really? You’re the best. Yeah, cash. Bye.” He hung up the phone while Corbin grimaced.

Credits rolled for the cartoon Corbin had put on, and an affectedly zany announcer informed them that Dragonball Z was next.

“Bearon, do you want to watch Dragonball Z?” Dean asked, rolling over to face Corbin and the bear.

“Are you talking to me or the bear?” Corbin asked.

“Either way you gotta answer,” Dean said.

“I don’t like that show.”

“Me neither.”

“So that’s, like, two things I know about you,” Corbin said.

“You know plenty about me. I’m not a man of mystery,” Dean said, closing his eyes and rolling onto his back. He stretched, arching his spine. The bottom edge of his tee shirt shifted up and exposed a strip of skin that was suddenly very interesting to Corbin.

He swallowed. “I know you’re from Cincinnati and you like pain.”

“Who says I like pain?” Dean said.

“You do. All the time.”

“Well. Just because I like punishment and I'm not afraid of a fight doesn’t mean I _like_ it. I mean I like it alright but I don’t _like_ like it, if you know what I mean.”

“I actually have no idea what you mean.”

“Cool,” Dean said.

Corbin rolled his eyes but was startled when Dean reached across him to grab for the remote.

“Hey! My hotel room, my remote! You’re going to crush the bear.” Corbin pinned Dean with one arm while wielding the remote with the other. He hit channel up and up and up while Dean mostly didn’t struggle.

“Why aren’t you this easy to pin in the ring,” Corbin drawled.

“What, you just want me to lay down for you?” Dean asked. He shoved Corbin’s arm away and scooted up against the headboard.

Corbin paused on the Weather Channel and considered. “Well. Anything to chalk up a win. That column’s lookin a little empty,” he said.

“One big one counts for a lot more than a bunch of little ones,” Dean said. “Promise. Oh, change this, I don’t like these storm shows.”

“Not a fan of weather?” Corbin asked.

Dean clutched at the teddy bear, covering the bear’s eyes. “You’re from Missouri, how are you less fucked up about tornadoes than me?”

“Years of practice, I guess.” But he changed the channel. Some drama about people in suits, Ancient Aliens, home shopping, COPS, endless mindless and trivial options.

“If you could only watch one TV show ever again for the rest of your life, what would it be?” Dean asked.

A gritty cooking show, a bright game show with a giant pyramid on the set, news, news, news. Still nothing to watch. “Depends,” Corbin said. “Can I still watch, like, tape of Smackdown?”

“Yeah, wrestling shit doesn’t count.”

“Can it be a show that’s still on or something that’s forever in reruns?”

“Any show.”

“Spongebob Squarepants,” Corbin said.

“For real?” Dean settled into a pile of pillows he had shoved behind himself.

“I could watch Spongebob forever, easy. What about you?” Corbin pulled his hat off and scratched his head.

“I would have pegged you as a Game of Thrones guy,” Dean said.

“I am a Game of Thrones guy but, like, would I give up laughter? No. I need to laugh at dumb shit. I like it but it’s not my desert island show.” He had stopped changing the channels on some kind of action movie neither of them recognized.

“Family Feud,” Dean said. “I could give up all TV if I could watch Family Feud.”

“That’s a made up answer,” Corbin said.

“Every answer is a made up answer,” Dean shot back. “It’s a made up question.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Pizza’s here,” Dean said.

“...you gonna go get that?” Corbin asked.

“It’s your room,” Dean said.

“You. Ordered. The. Pizza.” Corbin said through his teeth.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. You gotta get me back for all that salad and child support and whatever.”

Dean got up off the bed and Corbin watched him, the sway of his walk even from the bed to the door. He wanted to put his hands on him, however he got the chance to do it.

Corbin saw the illuminated silhouette of Dean and the pizza guy, and he saw the teetering stack of food boxes and bottles being handed over. He jumped up to make sure Dean didn’t drop anything, and when the guy left with his cash and tip, the door slammed and they dumped all the food on a round table with two chairs at it.

“Should have gotten a booster for Bearon,” Dean said.

“I didn’t know he would be joining us tonight,” Corbin said. “You should get a backpack for him.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Like one of those carriers? Yeah. I could keep my title in it too, keep an eye on both of them.”

“Right, cause it’s your baby too.”

“Just cause IC’s from a previous relationship doesn’t mean they can’t get along,” Dean said, taking a big floppy slice of pizza out from a giant box. “We’re a blended family.”

Corbin stared into his warped reflection in the lid of the plastic salad container and watched himself fail to keep a straight face. He dropped his head and laughed.

“I knew you liked me,” Dean said.

“I’m still going to pound you,” Corbin said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way!” Dean said. “Pass me the Diet pepsi.”

***

They watched Point Break and some documentary about birds and by then Dean was half asleep and couldn’t be kicked out of the bed.

“Goddammit Ambrose,” Corbin said, trying to shake him.

“M’sleepy,” Dean said. He looked weirdly peaceful and young, like the old pictures of Jon Moxley he had seen on the internet when researching his opponent.

“I’m not taking the couch.”

Dean flailed at the open side of the bed.

Corbin’s chest seized up. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To be closer to Dean?

He brushed his teeth and tried not to over think things. People did this all the time. Everything would be normal. They’d wake up and work out and eat and get to the venue and then possibly beat the shit out of each other.

Corbin didn’t want to wait that long to touch Dean. But he would if he had to.

He crawled into the left side of the bed and turned out the lights. His hand brushed the soft fur of Bearon Corbin, tucked under Dean’s outstretched arm. And then he brushed against Dean’s bare arm, lightly dusted with hair and warm.

Dean stirred.

Corbin pulled back.

They’d work it out in the ring.


	4. Aubade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corbin wakes up next to Dean and has a few Thoughts about that. Then Roman calls.

Baron Corbin was aroused by the light of day peeking through the vertical blinds of the room. Well. Maybe he was just aroused because it was morning. He shifted, burying his nose in the hair of the blonde in the bed with him, shifting his hips and feeling his morning wo....oh no. Hotel room. One bed. He was spooning Ambrose. He was *aggressively* spooning him. They were nested. Like spoons.

Dean was still, his mouth open, a thin string of drool crusting on his chin. Corbin looked down at him and thought: this wasn’t supposed to be cute. He needed to hate Dean and work up the rage to menace him and take his title away.

But Dean looked really good with the white leather of the IC title. Corbin shuddered thinking about it, that image in his mind of Dean showing off the championship while perched with his feet on the middle ropes. That wild grin. He withdrew his arm from over Dean and tried to create some separation between them. He held his breath, begging the gods of wrestling (there had to be gods of wrestling right?) for Dean not to wake up.

Corbin looked down at himself. Why was he shirtless? Why did that seem like a good idea, to take his shirt off when he woke up to piss at two in the morning? And there, pressed between where the two of them had been lying, was Bearon Corbin. Dean had taken his vest off for bedtime and left it on the bedside table.

A phone started to buzz from somewhere, and Corbin leapt up to find it and answer it.

“Wha?” Dean stirred sleepily.

Corbin snatched at his own phone but it wasn’t the one vibrating. He looked around the room for where Dean’s might be plugged in.

Dean palmed without coordination at the floor next to the bed. Corbin went over to help and found Dean’s chipped and abused phone halfway under the bed. He retrieved it and handed it back to Dean.

“Y’ello,” Dean answered. “Hi Ro. Yeah, I made it okay.”

Corbin took a breath. This wasn’t weird. But a tiny part of him was sad to leave the bed and still carried the lingering scent of Dean’s hair, warm straw in the sunlight.

“No, I’m not alone. Yeah, sure, he was a good date. You wanna talk to him?” Dean rolled over. “Hey Corbs, Roman wants to know if you’re treating me right.” He held out the phone.

Baron Corbin stood there shirtless wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Even his hat had gone missing, and he felt pretty naked. He took the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey Baron.”

“Hi Roman.”

“Did you take my advice?” Roman asked. His voice was somewhere between husky and staticky.

“Yeah...” Corbin said. “It’s been interesting.”

Roman chuckled into the phone. “I figured it might work too well. Is he eating?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Did he just order a bunch of random food and play with it, or did he eat? He forgets sometimes.”

Corbin thought. “I saw him eat pizza last night,” he said.

“Did he sleep?” Roman asked.

“Is this my job now?” Corbin asked. “Why are you asking me this.” He glanced over at Dean, who had rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head to block out the light.

“You’re new,” Roman said. “You don’t know what to look for. He’s my friend, and if I can’t be there I’m going to make damn sure whoever *is* there knows how to help him. You traveling together for the rest of the leg?”

“Only if he fucked up the rest of his hotel reservations just like he did this one.”

“Yeah. You’re probably stuck with him.”

“Goody,” Corbin said.

“Three square meals. Six hours of sleep. Water. Start there.” Roman sounded firm.

“...okay,” Corbin said.

Roman sighed. “We gotta take care of each other,” he said. “People slip through the cracks so easy.”

Corbin thought back to people he had known in his football days who had disappeared, without direction and unfindable to their old friends.

“Yeah, we do,” he said. He looked at the mound of blankets that was Dean. His voice was quiet: “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You do that,” Roman said. “See you around.” He hung up.


	5. Battle Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corbin works through his feelings leading up to the battle royal for number one contendership. And then, like, wrestling happens.

Corbin took a cold shower after he got off the phone with Roman, and by the time he was out Dean had rolled out of bed and started the tiny coffee pot in the room.

“You want half a cup of swill?” Dean asked as Corbin came out of the bathroom towelling his hair.

Corbin frowned and accepted a shiny black mug. He smelled it. He drank it and blinked.

“I’m poisoned now, aren’t I,” Corbin said.

“Totally poisoned. Gonna die any minute.”

“Cool.” Corbin took his mug and sat down on the corner of the bed to pull his boots on. “Pretty good for hotel room coffee though.”

“I take okay care of people,” Dean said.

“People. Does that count yourself?” Corbin asked.

Dean didn’t say anything, just put the carafe back in the machine with a clunk.

“So,” Corbin said, filling the silence. “Smackdown.”

“Did you have other Tuesday night plans?” Dean said, tilting his mug to drink the last of the coffee. He winced as he got a mouthful of grounds along with his swill.

“Big battle royal tonight.” Corbin felt like an idiot for stating the obvious but it was either this or silent scowling, and scowling had diminishing returns in close quarters.

“Not the biggest, but big.” Dean put his mug down and went to pack some things back into his suitcase so they could leave.

“Are you gonna kick my ass?”

The room felt small.

“You know it.” But Dean smiled in a way that made Corbin’s chest expand, feel warm, look forward to the ass kicking. “I’m sure you’ll do the same.”

“I’ve always wanted to kick your ass,” Corbin said, and immediately regretted it.

“Always is big talk, Corbs,” Dean said. “Always goes back a long while.”

“Dammit Dean, can we just pack up and go?”

“What’s your rush?”

But Corbin didn’t know the answer to that. He sipped his coffee, and Dean let the ass kicking discussion fade to black.

***

They kept their distance from each other the rest of the day as best they could, a desire for space overriding Roman’s request for now. They each had their own rental car for this leg of the trip, so they ate and worked out and got to the venue on their own.

But Corbin couldn’t get Dean out of his mind, as he did reps in the leg press machine at the 24 hour chain gym off the freeway. He felt a single bead of sweat drip from the center of his forehead all the way down the tip of his nose. How had Dean gotten under his skin so easily, so quickly? He ratcheted the weight on the machine higher and did reps until his legs burned, hoping the regret he would inevitably feel later might clear his head.

In the line at Chipotle, he drummed his fingers against the decorative wall with holes in it until someone at the counter called “Sir? I can help who’s next?” 

He took his double chicken double veggie bowls and a Diet Coke out to a picnic table outside. He swung a leg up over the bench and straddled it, looking out at the freeway whizzing by.

His phone felt heavy in his pocket. He took it out and turned it over in his hand, absentmindedly shoving food into his mouth and thinking about texting Dean.

He didn’t have Dean’s number.

Did Dean even text? He knew he did, he was texting Roman at the hospital. He told Roman he’d keep an eye on Dean but how could he do that without his number.

He thought about beating Dean in the battle royal. Would Dean keep the teddy bear if Corbin put him in the hospital again? Or would he have to get him another one?

Weirdly, that seemed like a thing he could just ask Dean. He would have an opinion.

The sun was bright. His phone was black and glossy and silent.

***

Corbin was backstage when the first guys lined up to do their promos for the match. He was eating a plate of celery sticks and little tiny radishes when Dean’s face came up on the monitor. He looked like he was in a bare-walled concrete bunker or something.

“Where is he even filming this from?” Corbin asked out loud.

“Oh that’s Dean’s bad room,” Daniel Bryan said, moseying over to where Corbin sank down into a folding chair. “It’s where he goes to be alone and break bottles.”

“What?”

“Ooh, look at that *picture*,” Daniel said. “He got a shirtless one.” He squinted at the monitor as Dean said a few intense things about his emotional state. He pressed his fingers against the wall, leering at the picture as if Corbin was actually there. Corbin shifted his grip on the plate and the radishes slid, bouncing to the floor.

“Where did he even get that?” Corbin ground out.

“Must have come from way back,” Daniel said. “Guess he’s been watching you. Good luck!” He slapped Corbin on the back a few times and walked away briskly. Corbin was left with Dean’s haunting eyes staring into the camera. He shivered. The shot faded out over Dean’s hand and the picture.

***

“I need your phone number,” Corbin said to Dean.

“I don’t answer booty calls,” Dean deadpanned. “Didn’t I just threaten to break your legs?”

Corbin pushed his tongue into his cheek. “You’d answer mine and you know it.”

“Always a sweet talker, this one.” Dean gestured to no one.

Corbin sighed through his nose. “If we’re traveling together more, I need your number. I could just ask Roman, I guess. But I’m not a  _ weirdo _ who goes into concrete rooms to break bottles and look at shirtless pictures of other guys.”

“Not other guys, Corbs. Other wrestlers. It’s research.”

“Here, put it in my phone, I gotta go shoot my promo too.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” Dean called as Corbin went off to hit his mark.

***

Corbin came back and Dean was waiting. He held out Corbin’s phone. “I fixed this for you.”

“Dean, what did you do.”

“Put my number in it. And other things.”

“Jesus, Ambrose, what is your problem?”

“Nothing a good ass-kicking won’t fix,” Dean said.

“You seem a little obsessed with my ass,” Corbin said, folding his arms and leaning down.

“Well. I started with your legs,” Dean said. He shrugged. “There’s a lot of you.”

“Dammit, Dean!”

“Do you kiss your son with that mouth?” Dean asked.

“Our son.”

Dean sucked his teeth.

Shane McMahon cleared his throat. They looked up.

“Get a room, you two.”

“We have a room!” Dean shouted.

“...then get two rooms,” Shane said. He made a note of something on a clipboard and walked away.

Corbin did the same, and didn’t even sneak a glance over his shoulder back at Dean.

***

The battle royal was as much of a clusterfuck as they always are. Corbin tried to be ready but Dean ran straight for him, delivering the promised ass kicking, and something about it felt right. It never felt good, but it felt right.

The tides of the fight shifted when Dean eliminated Corbin, ducking out of the way just in time to send him over the ropes. The chance to main event Wrestlemania slipped through his fingers just like losing his grip. It was almost like the rest of the guys weren’t there, like they were suddenly in an empty arena. His focus became singular, intimate. It didn’t matter anymore. Wherever he went, Dean was coming with him. And Dean wasn’t going anywhere without him.

He grabbed Dean behind the neck, beating him, Dean spewing obscenities and insults, threats echoing between the two of them. Corbin dragged Dean out of the ring and grabbed his neck with his arm, falling backward and slamming him into the hard floor of the arena.

They weren’t alone anymore. The hands of the referees were all over him, pulling him away. But they weren’t pulling Dean away. Dean was going back in, Dean was—

Gone.

***

Corbin dressed and left quickly before Dean got back to the locker room. They had their own cars. This leg was over—he was heading home for his “weekend,” back to the place he bought in Kansas City. Who knew where Dean was going.

He was at the airport returning his rental when his phone vibrated. He put the keys in the drop box and then looked at the screen.

Someone texted him a picture of the damn bear. The contact was labeled “NEMESIS.”

The bear had a band-aid on his head now, and he was propped up holding the IC title.

Corbin shook his head.

Another text came in.

“See you Friday,” it said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Corbin texted back.


	6. Bark at the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds ways to insert himself into Corbin's life even when he's not actually around. So, it's a Wednesday.

Corbin got in late and passed out face down on his bed. He woke up to a blaring alarm clock at five thirty-seven that he did not remember setting. He looked at his phone. The alarm was named “Wakey wakey hands off snakey.” He flopped over on his back and cursed Dean. He deleted a few other alarms that had been set to go off throughout the day-- “Do you miss me yet” and also “Welcome to the asylum.” But. He left “wakey wakey” and reset the time to a more godly hour.

Not that anything associated with Dean Ambrose was godly. Well. It depended on which god. Dean sometimes seemed like something out of the Greek mythology he remembered from high school English class, some kind of goat-legged deal that turns people into animals and drinks and has orgies in the woods. Hopefully not all at the same time.

“You cloven-hoofed monster” Corbin texted to Dean.

A few minutes later, Dean texted back: “It’s even earlier here”

And then: “Worth it”

“Are there any more surprises?” Corbin asked.

“You’ll see” wrote Dean.

Corbin rolled back over onto his face and tucked the phone under his pillow. He went back to sleep until the sun streamed in onto his face from a hole where one of the Venetian blinds was missing.

He got up and made a bowl of oatmeal in his boxers, got cold, and threw on a hoodie he picked up off the floor.

The house was quiet. Corbin watched some things he had DVR-ed while he threw in the gross laundry of the week, picking up the mess he left for himself the last time he was home. He had just started to get used to having a road buddy. Buddy? Frenemy? A road nemesis.

Paying bills was so boring that he poured himself a scotch and then forgot to drink it. He called his mom. He called his sister. He went down to the basement and worked out and cooked something with vegetables out of his freezer and by then he couldn’t stand the quiet and stillness of the house anymore and he put on his boots and his jacket and went out.

There was a pool hall in his neighborhood and he took his bike there, taking the long way, feeling a little more like himself on the road, exposed to the elements.  

The sun was just starting to go down when Corbin pulled up next to the hall and parked his motorcycle under a sodium yellow streetlight. He pulled his helmet off and scratched his head, pulling his beanie back on. He had a fleeting image of Dean getting off the bike too, Dean pressed against him, holding on tightly. That would go over so well in Kansas City. (Might it? Somewhere?)

He kicked at the dirt and shouldered open the door. It was loud enough to drown out the thoughts ricocheting around inside his own head.

“Hey Baron,” a man in a leather vest shouted. Another man grunted, bent over taking a shot on a pool table with worn green felt.

Corbin nodded in greeting and went to the bar for a deep draft of a watery American beer. The bartender raised his eyebrows.

“The usual,” Corbin said. He sat on a stool and drank, scoping out the scene. All the weeknight regulars were here, racking balls, busting each other’s chops, bragging about new clients at the shop or walleye or endlessly arguing about the world.

He finished his first beer and got another. When it came he took it over to a cluster of guys he knew well enough to kill time with--Davis and Johnny K. and the hairy guy whose name he couldn’t remember. Malcolm? Mike?

“Hey Baron,” Johnny said. “Tough break last night. Saw your match. Give that Ambrose guy hell next time.”

“Oh, I fucking will,” Corbin said. He leaned against an unused table while they finished a game of cutthroat. Davis put a bunch more quarters into the table to release the balls and they racked them up again. Corbin got a cue from a rack on the wall and teamed up with Johnny for a game of eightball.  Then they split off into two tables. Corbin broke a five at the change machine and filled his jacket pockets with quarters.

Corbin won the next game. Johnny drifted off to go talk to a redhead at the bar. A Metallica song came up on the jukebox. Corbin leaned his cue against the table and finished his beer in a long swallow.

“Who’s got next?” Davis asked.

Corbin was about to put another quarter up on the table when he felt a vibration in his pocket and strains of “Bark at the Moon.” He pulled his phone out and squinted at it--NEMESIS was calling.

“I gotta take this,” Corbin said without thinking, and strode toward the door. He hit the button on the screen and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey Big Breakfast,” Dean said.

Corbin stopped in his tracks, skidding in the gravel parking lot.

“Who. Told. You. About. That,” Corbin said.

“No secrets survive NXT,” Dean said. “People are falling over themselves to give me dirt on you, Baron.”

“There is no dirt, Dean. A bad nickname is not dirt.”

“It’s a great nickname, Breakfast,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Corbin said through gritted teeth.

“Ooh, I like it when you say my name that way. Do it again.”

Corbin breathed heavily into the phone.

“That’s good too. I mean, I could just call you Barry.”

“That’s not my *name*, Dean,” Corbin said. He was feeling a little calmer now that he had something to be angry about. “Do you need something? I’m still meeting you at the airport Friday, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” Dean said.

“What are you even doing tonight?”

“I’m just fucking around at home, making spaghetti, fun Wednesday.”

“By yourself?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

Corbin found his way to the edge of the parking lot and sat down on a concrete barrier. He faced away from the bar, looking out at the desolation of the strip development at night. A GameStop’s neon sign buzzed and blinked across the street. Subway was about to close.

“What are *you* doing?” Dean asked.

“Lone wolf stuff, you know, barking,” Corbin said. “Howling. Might do some scratching later.”

“I’m so sorry to miss that,” Dean said. “I love howling.”

Corbin barked one short laugh. “I bet you do.”

“I’ll howl at anything. The moon, the...the sun, anything.”

“At your spaghetti,” Corbin said.

“Great idea,” Dean said brightly. Corbin heard the sound of the phone being put down, and some kind of a garbled howling noise. “How was that?”

“Leave the wolf shit to the pros, Dean,” Corbin said.

“And the breakfast shit?”

“Fuck you, buddy.”

“Aww, don’t talk to your nemesis that way. We at least have to draw this out until Wrestlemania.”

Something about the certainty in Dean’s voice made Corbin’s heart skip a little. “Guess so,” he said.

“Where are you? You’ve got great reception for your fucking wolf den in the woods or whatever,” Dean said.

“Pool hall,” Corbin said. “There’s a place in KC near where I live.” Corbin took a breath of the still night air. “You’d like it,” he said.

“Bet I would,” said Dean. “Warm beer and crappy people?”

“Not any crappier than the company I’ve been keeping lately.”

“Gotta meet your daily scumbag quota, I got it,” Dean said mildly.

“I should probably get back to my game,” Corbin said with hesitation.

“Probably,” Dean said.

“What do you put in your spaghetti?” Corbin asked.

“Well, I have this trick. I slice the garlic really thin with a razor blade.”

“Yeah, Dean, I’ve seen Goodfellas,” Corbin said, rolling his eyes but smiling. He threw a leg over the concrete barrier, straddling it. “Does that really work?”

“Works fucking great. I got some hot italian sausage and shit and I put like a whole bag of spinach in the last couple minutes of cooking.”

“That sounds good,” Corbin said.

“You should come out and try it sometime,” Dean said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Do you cook?”

“I don’t really have the patience,” Corbin sighed. “I used to help my mom bake. These days I just...take stuff out of the freezer. Re-stock the freezer. Sometimes I grill.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and this time it sounded like he was talking with his mouth full. “Not like we’re really home to do it much anyway.” He moaned. “Oh god, this came out good. Ok, I gotta go eat this before it gets cold.”

Corbin heard the strains of his own entrance music faintly over the phone. “What are you doing?”

“Watching tape, Corbs. Well, it’s not actual tape. But...it’s tape. I told you I’ve been doing my research.”

Corbin shook his head. “See you Friday,” he said.

“Night,” Dean said, and hung up the phone.

Corbin sat for a minute thinking about the end of their exchange before he went back into the bar.

“How’s your *girlfriend*?” Davis said, looking up from where he was aiming a cue. “Only a sweet lay gets you moving that fast.”

Corbin’s eyes narrowed.

“That good, eh?” Davis leered.

“You have no idea,” Corbin said, and he picked up his cue. “I got next.”


	7. Superbeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head one Friday, and also, there's spaghetti.
> 
> [NOTE THE RATING CHANGE.]

Baron Corbin walked off the airplane, pulling his sunglasses down off his head, hoping no one would recognize him. Well, hoping exactly one person would recognize him because it would be really awkward if Dean didn’t—

He walked into the terminal pulling his carry-on and was greeted by a smiling and waving Dean Ambrose, who was eating out of a plastic container of homemade spaghetti. It was a cheap-looking deal with a green lid and a chipped corner.

“Where did you get that?” Corbin asked, swiveling his suitcase so it faced forward as he stopped in front of Dean, close to Dean.

“I made it. Fucking called you on the damn phone while I did it, Corbin, do I need to telegraph this anymore? I like spaghetti.”

“You brought that on the plane?” Corbin asked.

“What. I brought a plastic fork.” Dean brandished it at a very skeptical Corbin. “Want some?” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a second plastic fork.

Corbin looked around to see if people were staring at him and his spaghetti-laden friend. There was no one watching, as exposed and ridiculous as he felt. He took the fork and speared a meatball and rounded up a few noodles.

It was good, and even warm.

“How is this still hot?” Corbin asked with his mouth full.

“Oh, they let me microwave it.”

Corbin drew his brows together. “Who the hell is ‘they’?”

“The guys. They work here, at the sandwich place? They just zapped it for me. I fly through here a lot.”

“With spaghetti?”

“Sometimes. Here, have some more, I can’t finish this.”

And that was how Baron Corbin ended up eating a Tupperware full of pasta and homemade sauce in the Dallas airport, and didn’t even get caught.

“How does spaghetti sauce not count as a liquid?” Corbin asked.

“You are full of questions tonight. Check a bag?”

“Yeah, we gotta go to carousel B. But seriously.”

“I think it’s because it’s spread out all over the noodles. Like, you can’t take a bottle of lotion on the plane, but if you spread it all over your body it’s still the same lotion. Same thing with spaghetti sauce.”

“So they’ll still let me on the plane if I spread the spaghetti sauce all over my skin...” Corbin said. “Got it.”

Dean shook him by the shoulder. “You’re really coming around, Breakfast!”

It was like that all the way to baggage claim and to the rental counter. Dean finished his spaghetti and Corbin couldn’t believe no one noticed. Dean was great at doing weird things casual. He got the keys from the guy at the counter, signed some papers, and they were off.

“We’re in a match tonight,” Dean said as they got into the car. He tossed the empty plastic container into the backseat, and Corbin frowned.

“Throw that away,” he said.

“That’s good Tupperware, I’m not throwing it out.”

“It looks like it used to hold lunchmeat, get rid of it.”

“I’m saving it.”

“Dean, are you literally taking garbage home in your suitcase?” He sighed as he got into the passenger’s seat and pushed it all the way back, stretching out his legs. “What kind of home are you making for our son.”

“Waste not, want not, motherfucker,” Dean said. He started the car and backed out of the space, looking over his shoulder and cranking the wheel one handed. He sped out of the lot and onto the road.

“What kind of match?” Corbin asked as they pulled out on the state highway going east.

“No holds barred,” Dean grinned. 

Corbin suppressed a smile. “I’m not going to go easy on you,” he said.

“You better fucking not,” Dean said with some snap. “Just because we’re on speaking terms don’t mean I’m not nailing your ass to the canvas.”

Corbin coughed.

“Not literally. I’m kinda past that part of my career.”

“Did you get nailed in the ring a lot?” Corbin dared to ask, not making eye contact.

“Ah, that was more Rollins’s deal, son,” Dean said with a laugh.

Corbin blanched and kept looking out the window. “The things you miss never having been in the indies.”

“I’m sure you had plenty of wild times, kid,” Dean said.

Corbin thought back to studying in the library on a Friday night to keep his grades up so he wouldn’t lose his football scholarship so he wouldn’t have to go home and try to get a job at the chicken processing plant like half his high school class. The library was, at least, cheaper than the bar. “Wild times,” Corbin echoed.

Dean cranked up Avenged Sevenfold on the radio and they hit the venue in another half an hour to make call time. 

***

“What do you mean there’s been a change to the card?” growled Corbin.

“We got a hole at the top of the card we gotta fill. Tag team match—Dean and Bray are going up against AJ and Orton.” Daniel Bryan read to them off of a clipboard. “Baron Corbin, let’s see, where are you…” He slid a finger down the paper to the bottom. “You’re going to open up the show against Hawkins.”

“But I was supposed to have a street fight,” Corbin said, a whine sounding strange in his voice. “With Ambrose.”

“We can *still* have a street fight,” Dean said. “If you want. I know a guy, late night nunchucks—”

“Dean, you aren’t allowed to fight people in parking lots anymore and you know it,” Daniel said. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. Corbin, if he does anything weird just sit on him.”

“Hey!” Corbin said, but by then Daniel had walked off.

“You gotta get ready for your entrance,” Dean said a little sadly. “Go warm up.”

Corbin huffed out a sigh.

Dean punched him in the arm. “Look at it like this, kid, this way our son doesn’t have to see us fighting.”

“You would be a good dad,” Corbin said, instantly regretting it, his face feeling hot.

Dean looked at him skeptically and handed him a bottle of water. “Here, you’re gonna need this. I’ll see you afterward, Corbs.”

***

Curt Hawkins didn’t know what hit him. Even if he had known was getting pummeled by two hundred and seventy five pounds of disappointment, he probably couldn’t have done anything differently. Corbin pounded him into the turnbuckle, slammed him, put the end of days on him one, two, three. It was vicious. The crowd ate it up.

Corbin went to the back, thinking about getting some celery sticks and a shower.

“The boys are so proud,” Dean said as Corbin came around a corner.

He stopped and stared with wide eyes. Dean was wearing his ring gear, grey tank, jeans, but instead of the title around his waist he had it tucked into a blue flowered baby carrier along with Bearon Corbin.

Corbin shook his head, tongue pressed against his front teeth, at a loss for words.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to get one of those,” Daniel said from behind them. “Did you get a Moby? I’ve heard the Moby is good but Brie saw something about how they’re made with bisphenol-A and we’re trying to reduce our chemical exposure and…”

Corbin turned around in the middle of Daniel’s sentence and walked straight to catering. He ate four brownies and hyperventilated a little, but he didn’t think anyone could tell. Nattie came over and sat next to him for a while. They didn’t talk until she got up to leave.

“Soon,” she said, patting him on the arm.

He didn’t know what that meant.

***

He snuck out from the back of the arena to watch the main event through a crack in the curtains. Dean was on fire, flying off the ropes onto Randy Orton and pounding him into the concrete. The crowd howled and Corbin could feel their electricity.

He wanted to get his hands on Dean. It should be him pinning Dean to the mat, it wasn’t fair. Dean would never kick out of his pin.  _ He wouldn’t want to _ . The thought came to Corbin unbidden. He wanted to grab Dean by the collar of his shirt and whip him around until the fabric tore, scraps hanging threadbare at his sides.

And he didn’t want to wait.

His nostrils flared as Dean kicked out from under Orton, tagged in Wyatt. Another minute and it was over, Randy playing the snake game on the mat, getting the better of his spooky frenemy. And so it goes.

He wasn’t sure if Dean saw him watching or not, but he ducked behind the curtain before Dean came back up the ramp just in case.

***

Dean tucked the baby carrier and the bear and the title back in his gear bag and they were on the road, another couple of hours in the car to the next hotel and the next town.

Corbin checked in at the desk while Dean played with some kind of mirrored kinetic sculpture in the lobby, something part Alexander Calder and part FAO Schwartz that had him enraptured as he spun it around.

“Is one king bed still fine, sir?” the clerk asked.

Corbin looked over his shoulder at Dean.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Two keys.”

He signed papers and collected Dean, stopping the spinning, mirrored device with one hand. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

“Say that again,” Dean said. He grabbed his roller and followed Corbin to the elevator.

They fit themselves and their bags into the confined space and let the door close. Corbin jabbed at the button for the third floor.

***

“Does this door look like it’s been...forcibly opened?” Corbin asked.

Dean peered down at the molding and the scrape marks around the faceplate. “Yep. Somebody breached this shit.”

“Great sign.” Corbin fiddled with the key card, trying to turn the handle when the light went green. It wasn’t working. After a few tries, Dean pushed him aside to try. With one smooth movement, he slid the card in, turned the handle and nudged the door with both his shoulder and his knee. It opened.

“Still got it,” Dean said, entering.

Corbin looked around. “Spacious,” he said after a moment.

Dean dropped his suitcase in the middle of the floor. “One king?” He asked. “Again?”

Corbin tried to disguise his flush by zipping up his hoodie. “They didn’t have anything else.”

“Really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, Breakfast.” He turned around. The carpet was threadbare, the dresser was scratched and battered, and they could hear the sound of cars zipping by on the highway even with the door closed behind them.

“I swear it seemed better online,” Corbin said. “I can try to get a different room.”

Dean shrugged. “It’ll be just like old times. You wanna sleep in the bathtub or should I?”

Corbin arched an eyebrow at Dean who just laughed.

“We managed to share the bed fine last time,” Corbin said.

“Oh yeah, I told everybody what a great cudder you are. Roman’s jealous.”

Corbin froze. “Cuddler? Now you’re just making things up.” 

“Sure I am,” said Dean.

“Dammit.” Corbin felt hot under the collar of his shirt and behind his ears. Why did Dean always find the thing to say that made him feel like his skin was on fire?

“Hey, I’m not complaining.”

“I was asleep, I thought you were asleep, I swear dude, I didn’t mean—” Corbin looked up and Dean was looking back at him wide-eyed.

“Dude, I was just bullshitting you,” Dean said. “Was there sleep cuddling that I missed out on? Shit, I thought I felt well-rested.”

“There was no cuddling.”

“Was there spooning?”

“NO.” Corbin’s eyes flashed.

“That’s the no that means yes,” Dean said. “Your eyes do a thing.”

“No! They don’t. Stop it.”

“You know I’ve been watching. You got tells, Baron Corbin. I know *all* your tells. You got your thumb hooked through your belt loop right now, and that means you’re nervous.”

“I’m nervous I’m rooming with a crazy person. Can we just go to bed? It’s been a long drive.”

“Would you rather sleep in the tub or accidentally cuddle me again? Are you trying something, Corbs?” Dean stepped up to him. “Next time, try it while I’m awake,” he said. “I want to remember it better.”

They were so close now that it was almost nothing for Corbin to reach out and put his hands on Dean’s waist, grasping him and pulling him in. The same hands that were bound to wreck him now held him tight.

“Remember this,” Corbin said, and he leaned down to press a ferocious kiss onto Dean’s open mouth. Dean’s beard prickled his lips and it was delicious, Dean opening for him, clinging to him, Dean running his hands up Corbin’s chest and hooking them behind the back of his neck.

They kissed frantically, panting and gasping for breath. Corbin dug his nails into Dean’s body and he felt the goosebumps break out in response. His hat fell off onto the floor. He stepped a leg forward, between Dean’s legs, and they staggered together until Dean had his back against the wall.

Corbin broke the kiss and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You like that? That shut you up?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Dean said, laughing with a look of delighted surprise. “Do you really think—” but Corbin cut him off with another kiss before he could say anything more. He pinned Dean to the wall, putting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, curving down to meet him, making Dean look small.

Half of Corbin’s brain was stuck on the fact that this wasn’t supposed to happen, and the other half was busy not caring. Maybe more than half. Maybe fifty one percent. He’d heard everything everybody backstage said. About sleeping around. About Dean. About what happens to guys who fuck guys. And not caring won out because he got to kiss this sweet face, this stupid fucking face that was fucking smiling.

“What do you got to smile about?” he said, glaring at Dean.

“Gonna show me your big breakfast?” Dean said, laughing. He ran his hands down and cupped Corbin’s ass, caressing with his fingers.

“God fucking dammit, Dean,” Corbin said, shaking his head.

“That big, eh? I think I can handle it.” His hands came around to tug at Corbin’s belt buckle. Corbin’s mouth went dry as Dean worked it expertly, the belt falling loose with a tinny clink. He undid the button of Corbin’s jeans with a loud pop.

Corbin grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t I look like I’ve done this before?” Dean said with a smirk. He squeezed out from between Corbin and the wall and shifted his weight to slam Corbin into it. The air was knocked out of him, but he kept his grip on Dean’s hair. 

Corbin glared and shoved Dean down. “You want this, don’t you.”

Dean went to his knees and nosed at Corbin’s crotch. He licked a wet spot into Corbin’s black jeans. He pressed his cheek against Corbin’s hardening cock, the outline of it straining the tight, rough fabric. His fingers scrabbled at the zipper.

Corbin couldn’t wait for this, Dean like a tight coiled spring that might snap and cut him at any minute.

“Goddamn,” Dean said, faced with Corbin’s sprung cock. He grasped the base with his fist, running fingers up Corbin’s thigh with his other hand. He licked the head with a wide, flat tongue, eyes open, looking up through his lashes at Corbin.

“You look so goddamn pretty,” Corbin said. “Fuck, keep looking at me like that. Dean, I don’t know what to do, oh goddamn.” Corbin didn’t have anything to hang on to. He ran one hand through the fine hair at the top of Dean’s head and planted the other flat against the wall.

Dean sucked the tip and then pulled off. “You know what to do. But I’ll tell you if you want.” He smiled like he had a plan. “Fuck my mouth.”

Corbin gasped a little and he felt his balls twitch. “But—I. I—”

“I want it, fuck my mouth, Corbin, use me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s not what you said last week.”

“Not like this!”

“I ain’t never been injured from gagging on a dick, Breakfast. Do your worst.”

“GODDAMMIT!” Corbin grabbed harder at Dean’s hair and pulled him forward. Dean’s wet mouth fell open over Corbin’s cock and he thrust down Dean’s throat. Dean moaned in ecstasy and Corbin felt all of it. He rocked his hips back and forth, moving shallowly. He looked down and his knees felt weak. Dean’s brows were drawn together in concentration, his gaze still on Corbin’s face, never leaving. He saw Dean undo his own fly with his free hand, his pants falling down around his knees, his boxers too. His eyes only closed when he got a hand around himself.

“That’s it, baby,” Corbin said experimentally. “Let me see you. Gonna want to get my hands on that soon too.” Dean moaned in agreement.

Baron thrust harder, testing. Dean breathed in sharply through his nose but relaxed around it. He fucked in and out, Dean’s mouth slack and wet and loose and his throat a tight backstop. He felt Dean gag and his heart hurt. Dean swallowed around him, humming and moaning and he kept going. They both kept going.

“I like you like this, Dean,” Corbin said, breathing heavy, tucking a strand of hair behind Dean’s ear, touching his head tenderly while he fucked him savagely. “You look good on your knees. You can kneel for me any time you want. Would you like that?”

Dean nodded eagerly, Corbin’s cock slipping past his lips, brushing his cheek. He swallowed and panted for breath. He stroked Corbin with his hand while he tried to form words. His blue eyes were shining and dark with arousal.

“How far do you want to take this, Baron?” Dean asked, resting his forehead against Corbin’s thigh. 

“Fuck, Dean, I don’t know, where’s the line? Where do we go from here?”

“Do you think there’s a line that I won’t cross? For you? Right now?” His fist slid up over the head of Corbin’s cock and then back to the base. He rolled his hand over Corbin’s balls.

“I wanna be on top of you,” Corbin said, “I want to cover you with my body. I want you to feel me.”

Dean sat back on his heels, his own dick red and leaking. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“I.” Corbin coughed.

“What?” Dean said.

“Nothing,” Corbin said. “Get up.”

Dean rose, pushing off the floor with the tips of the fingers of his left hand. Corbin pulled him in, pulling his black tee shirt off over his head, running his hands over Dean’s bare, scarred back, breathing in the scent of his body. He stepped out of his jeans and shoes and then Dean was completely naked. Corbin pushed him toward the bed and he sat down, legs spread, leaning forward, hands on his knees. Dean’s nostrils flared. He looked like he did in the ring when he was suppressing a grin, trying to look mad when he was really happy.

Corbin went to his bag and unzipped an outside pocket. “Catch,” he said, and hucked a plastic tube at dean, who caught it out of the air one handed.

“This for me?” Dean asked as he flipped the cap open and drizzled the clear liquid over his fingers.

Corbin stopped mid-way through tearing open the wrapper of a condom as Dean started fingering himself right there on the bed.

“You don’t waste time,” Corbin said.

“Don’t I?” Dean grunted. He was already two knuckles deep, two fingers in. Corbin’s mouth watered. He shook his head, got back on track, and finished putting the condom on, but got stuck between deciding whether to take his boots off and watching Dean ride his own fingers, putting on a show and clearly loving it.

Corbin’s phone felt heavy in his pocket and he got it out. In a fit of indecision he thumbed open iTunes and threw on a playlist, turning the volume up all the way. He dropped it on the bed and touched Dean’s cheek. “I think you’re ready.”

Some old Rob Zombie came up first on shuffle. Dean laughed and nodded with approval. “C’mere, superbeast,” he said, and pulled Baron down on top of him. His loose belt buckle dug into Dean’s skin and Corbin shoved at his pants, getting them down far enough to maneuver.

Corbin grabbed at the lube and poured some in his own hand, stroking his cock as he knelt over a prone Dean. He tried to find something to say but all his built up desire and sweet rage came out as a wordless growl. He shifted and ground his cock into the crack of Dean’s ass, slipping and sliding over his asshole without entering yet. “You want this?”

“Goddamn, Corbin, you gonna tease me or fuck me?”

“I could ask you the same damn thing.” He rocked his hips up, feeling the sweet flex of Dean’s thighs.

“It’s always better with a good build-up, you know that.” Dean smiled and bit his cheek. Something about his expression was unguarded, free, and Corbin couldn’t look away. He took a steadying breath and guided himself true, feeling Dean’s body give way to his, and they both let out a shout as it happened, as Corbin was fully seated, as he began to move, as he pressed Dean’s shoulders into the mattress, as he covered Dean’s body with his own, as the sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes and his mouth and as he kissed Dean’s mouth too, as Dean wrapped his legs around Corbin, letting him in even deeper with the shift in position, as Dean babbled in his ear, as Dean bit his ear, as Corbin scratched his nails down Dean’s arms and chest and as he pulled his hair, as he thrust in and in again, as he got a hand around Dean’s gorgeous cock, as they both came shouting obscenities and cursing each other’s fucking names, Corbin knew he wasn’t alone anymore.


End file.
